


Boots

by yeaka



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Silas is rescued from the rain.





	Boots

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Some days, the rain feels like a vile curse of the mage, though it does little more than soak his clothes and rust his scissor sword. Most days, Wendimoor’s skies are clear and blue, full of only fluffy clouds that never threaten anyone. But the plants do need their water, and some like the light showers that occasionally befall them. Silas would prefer it done with him safely inside, not far out into the forest, waterlogged and soggy.

It’s his own fault, really, he thinks as he rushes back, one hand held overhead. He should never have gone to train alone—Wygar, in his old wisdom, would’ve sensed the rain and bade them wait another day, and if Panto were around, Silas wouldn’t mind a thing, even if they were drenched right to the bone. But alone, it’s a fretful mess—jumping over so many puddles. It’s what he gets for standing on his pride. 

He stops under a particularly thick oak after a moment’s sprint—he needs to suck in air for the next plunge, as though with the proper reserve of strength, he’ll be able to outrun even the raindrops. Then, before he moves again, he hears his name sung through the trees.

He recognizes that voice. He’d know it anywhere. A smile twists across his lips, and Silas calls back: “ _Panto!_ ”

Sure enough, harried footsteps near him, and his beloved prince bursts through the trees. Panto looks particularly lovely in the slanted evening light, filtered through the rain and leaves. But he’s always beautiful—the most handsome man in all of Wendimoor: the only man for Silas. He even looks perfect with his pink hair slicked across his forehead, but today, he isn’t wet. 

He nears Silas, smiling radiantly and dry as a summer’s day. He holds a long pole in his hands, and from it springs a wide dome of grey-blue fabric. As he reaches Silas’ side, he lifts the strange contraption above them both, and the few waterfalls that had escaped the oaks’ large branches abruptly cease their splutter. Silas laughs delightedly at both the odd invention and the gorgeous knight that brought it to him. 

“I came to protect you,” Panto smoothly tells Silas, as though he needs any explanation for his company. 

Silas only grins wider, because that’s so very like Panto, even though Silas chuckles, “And here I had come to practice, specifically so you needn’t protect me any longer.”

“You would practice without me?” Panto counters, though he knows very well that, as wondrous a teacher as he is, he can be a bit distracting. Silas doesn’t answer, just leans forward to connect their mouths, and Panto meets him halfway. This kiss is chaste and sweet, thought it carries the faint note of _longing_ that Silas always feels for his lover—something they’ll elaborate on when they’ve made it safely out of the downpour.

As they part, still standing close enough to _feel_ one another’s warmth, Silas asks, “What is it?” 

Panto’s brow knits together, until Silas gestures to the object in his hands. Then he answers, “Oh! An umbrella, I’ve been told—a stranger gave it to me in the mountains, and isn’t it a marvelous thing? Imagine, keeping dry amidst the rain! I’d thought to show it to both our families, after I saw you safely home.”

“Then you will show it to mine first,” Silas concludes, “for I hope you will come in with me, to protect me from the chill of water already caught.”

Panto nods, gravely adding, “I will atone for arriving too late.” To which Silas laughs again and pecks his cheek, which spreads Panto into another smile. They share another close moment of simply that—gazing into one another’s eyes, clasping hands, and knowing, finally, that they can return _together_ with their heads held high.

Then they turn to go, safely treading water.


End file.
